NEW FICTION:

He shaped himself up, the best way he could. He had his purple jeans on, his pink sneakers, an old, old t-shirt that said: "He was there, then he wasn't: 2017." His scattered, bitten-down fingers slid shakingly across his stubbled head. His eyes were wide and ocean blue, but they didn't look out - no matter how hard they tried - only in. He felt that it had been a long time coming, always a long time coming. But he'd shaped himself up, the best way he could. He stood in the small room of narrow bed and broken dresser. He stood in grey-blue light, he stood in pale gold light, he stood in nothing, and in nowhere. He looked down at his pink sneakers - smiled to himself, smiled at the memory, smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. The smile faded but lingered - slightly, and he was ready.